


The Surprise

by Hawkinsbabe (Multishippers)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hanukkah, Light Angst, M/M, Stanlon - Freeform, chanukkah, engaged benverly, kid!reddie, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multishippers/pseuds/Hawkinsbabe
Summary: This is my Secret Santa gift for Reddie-for-anything on Tumblr.Feedbacks are more than appreciated and welcomed.





	The Surprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_lazy_eye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/gifts).



> This is my Secret Santa gift for Reddie-for-anything on Tumblr.
> 
> Feedbacks are more than appreciated and welcomed.

“I was just looking for that this morning.”

  
Stan could hear a low, yet warm honey-like, voice call out to him from further away, piercing through the crackling wood that was burning in the fireplace of the small house. His eyes strayed away from the good book he had been peacefully reading, laying across the length of their brand new couch that had yet to be completely destroyed by Richie’s wild antics, to rest on the beautiful dark skinned man.

  
Like always, Mike took his breath away without even trying; his frizzy hair still sprinkled with white little snowflakes while his complexion was a couple of shade darker and redder because of the way the cold air outside must have hit his skin, his smile lighting up the room a million times better than the light that was behind Stan even though he was all the way across the room. So starstruck by the young man that made his way towards him that his usually very aware self was lost and barely even processed that Mike had even talked to him in the first place.

“What?” Stan asked, his eyes snapping right back up when he heard Mike clear his throat, now being face with the way Mike’s expression was filled with both fondness and the slightest hint of smugness in the beautiful smile he wore that carried perfectly those next few words;

“The hoodie you are wearing. I was looking for it all morning.”

“It’s the warmest thing we have in the house.”

Stan mumbled almost defensively, knowing all too well that his soon-to-be husband clearly was more worthy of the cozy article of clothing he had stolen, as his right hand left the heavy book to grab the collar of the thick yellow hoodie and bringing the material closer to his face. He easily too in the sweet and familiar scent of Mike: a soft smell of vanilla mixed in with patchouli. Something he would’ve never thought would work so well, but fell in love the same way he did with the man that wore it: slowly and then all at once.

He took advantage of the fact that the lower half of his face was hidden away so he didn’t have to hold back onto the smile that was spreading on his relatively expressionless face, though Mike could see that the young man was smiling. How? From those countless hours spent in school just looking at the man, picking up on all his telltale just like this one. When Stan smiled, however little it was, his beautiful hazelnut Iris would get a few shades lighter and his pupil would blow out barely enough for it to be noticeable. But Mike always did notice. Plus he would get those wrinkles a the side of his lids that Hanlon would find so adorable and always thought it made him somehow look ten years younger.

“Exactly, why I was looking for it.” He said, one of his eyebrows arched up, looking down upon the dirty blonde.

“I’m not letting you have it, I’m too comfortable.” Stan had replied, his eyes trailing down the madman that had been wearing a T-shirt in a -25 Celsius temperature.

“Well then, I suppose you won’t mind me doing this.”

The Jew barely had time to react that the former farmer slipped between his long legs and laid himself on top of his lover, head resting against the slender chest of his. Which Stan was completely fine with since it wasn’t the first time Mike would collapse on top of him and use him as a pillow, usually doing so after a long day of grading exams and thesis on historical events.

But that was until freezing fingers slipped themselves under the warmth of the hoodie and pressed themselves against Stan’s burning hot skin of his stomach. Somehow the contrast felt absolutely amazing, almost making the smallest moan escape Stan’s mouth as goosebumps arise all over his lanky body.

“I guess not.” Had he said as flat as he possibly could all while suppressing a shiver that didn’t go unnoticed by the young black man that grinned up to the one that was ‘casually’ trying to get back to his book.

Mike’s hands shifted after a while to Stan’s back, arms wrapping easily around the man’s waist as he nuzzled his nose against the side of his favorite boy’s face. And calm reigned over the one-story house, the only sound that could be heard was from the fire and the steady breathing pattern of his partner, which was slowly but surely lulling Mike into unconsciousness when;

“DAD!! RICHIE MESSED UP MY SNOWMAN!!” A screeching sound came from the door before an angered Eddie made his way into the living room, bringing snow along with him as he stripped away leaving every article of cloathing of his everywhere. Which made Stan’s finger twitch at the sight before they took hold of Mike’s T-shirt as a grounding point. The slightly smaller human being was soon followed by Richie;

“NO, I DID NOT! Dada, Daddy, do not listen to him. Whatever spaghetti has said is  **WRONG**!” Who while screaming at the top of his lungs, crashed onto both the wall that separated the entry and onto Eddie. The action only starting a whole new set of bickering about how Richie made the carrot the snowman’s dick instead of nose and Richie saying it was ‘it’s true placement.’

“… tell me again why I agreed to move in with your dumbasses.” Stan halfheartedly complained, letting his book rest against Mike’s broad back, his free hand that had ventured into the farmer’s frizzy hair moving to cradle his well-structured jaw though his eyes were on the six and seven years old arguing now on the floor about who can remove their snow outfit faster.

Mike couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, nuzzling his face a little more against the soft cheeks before his plump lips pressed a few kisses, making it hard for the Jew to fight back a smile.  
“Stop it, you love us.” 

 

Over the past two weeks, Stan started to noticed little hiccups in the usual things Mike would do that he suddenly wasn’t doing any more. It started slow; Mike making late nights phone calls, skipping dinners with the family. Then he would break his strict and self-inflicted rule about spending only two hours on his computer a day, skipping Eddie’s and Richie’s bedtime story too busy being on the phone. Which the phone calls would eventually overlap their usual alone time aka cuddle time, making Stan instead binge criminal mind alone. He slowly became aware of the lack of attention and affection he was getting from the black man, because suddenly the smallest things were missing; the way his hand would linger on his back longer than needed when he kissed him goodbye or him coming home completely exhausted only to brighten up instantly when He would notice Stan looking at him smiling minutes before he was attacked by children.

Now he simply ran out the door with a quick ‘I love you’ and would still be lost when he comes home. So much so he would pass the excited six and seven years old greeting their dad like it had been weeks they hadn’t seen him. He was distracted. Stan could tell because of the feeling he would get in his stomach; the awful knot tightening with each time he was brushed off or when Mike would close his computer too quickly when he felt his fiancé’s hands travel down his chest, effectively breaking the mood Stan had been trying to set.

During those two weeks, Stan called repeatedly Ben and Beverly’s house, whenever he couldn’t swallow his pride anymore and needed the validation that his couple wasn’t falling apart in front of his eyes.

“Do you think Mike is getting tired of me?” Stan’s shaky voice would ask silently, sitting on the floor in the kitchen hiding from the two children that were arguing over who was the best superhero between LadyBug and Cat Noir.

“No! Stan, Why would you think that?” Ben asked in his usual smooth tone, as calm as ever, while his wife could be heard cackling in the back screaming; “If you think that hunk is tired of you it’s because you haven’t seen what he keeps in his school desk drawers.”

Stan hadn’t paid attention to the way Ben’s breathing patterned left clues for him to pick up that he had become rather tense at the way Beverly worded her sentence. He hadn’t paid attention because he had been too busy suddenly feeling hot, cheeks burning up and tears no longer close to coming out. “What does he have?"

“Let’s say that school beat his ass so he beat his meat.” He choked at the implication, turning as red as a tomato while his eyes were now as big as golf balls. Though it didn’t take long for him to start to giggle slowly before it turned into a full in laughter. He wouldn’t have normally reacted this way, he instead would’ve passed a comment about how she shouldn’t talk like that. But somehow the thought of Mike keeping something naughty about him in his desk made butterflies fly away in his stomach, thinking back to that time he had taken one risky Polaroid of himself for Mike’s 21st birthday. And Beverly saying this seemed to give Him an explanation as to why he seemed so stressed lately. He felt relieved. Relieved to learn that maybe he wasn’t the reason for Mike’s mood and it felt so good to finally feel something else than a constant weight on his poor weakened heart.

And while admittedly he did feel good after that thirty minutes conversation with his friends, Ben reminding him how Mike had driven all the way from Maine to Quebec when they were 18 only because he regretted going on that ski trip, that feeling, unfortunately, didn’t stay, anxiety making a back that precise night, after he had very awkwardly tucked both Eddie and Richie in after trying his best to tell a story as beautiful and amusing as Mike usually would. The blond man was sitting by the window, anxiously watching the few cars that would go down the snowy street, phone held quite tightly in one hand while the other was busy getting their nails chewed in, picking back up his bad habit.

 _From: My sunflower🌻_  
_Hey honey_  
_Don’t know if you’re still awake but don’t wait for me to go to bed_  
_I need to do some work still_  
_I love you_  
_Kiss the kids for me_

The Jewish man felt all too hopeful, heart beating fast as he felt his phone ring to signal a text, all the more seeing the name. But that feeling went just as fast as the theories for him not coming home went through his mind. And he did have a countless amount of them after he’s had had the time to think and overthink the scenarios for days now. There was only one theory that Stan had crossed off of his list without thinking twice at first: cheating. He knew Mike, he was one of the rare people Stan believed wasn’t purely motivated by self-interest but instead by others. And never had he given him any reason to think he may betray him and their family like this. 

But as his hazel eyes looked down at his engagement ring, Stan felt his faith waver the slightest bit but the fact that it did at all brought salty tears to the brim of his eyelids. He truly believed he would never do such a thing. Because he did love him. He really did. But then he couldn’t explain why his chest seemed to close down on him and his organs when he read the words back, throat tightening in such way it felt like a hand was holding onto him.

 _To: My sunflower🌻_  
_Ok._  
_I love you, Michael._

A strained gasp escaped him once he pressed the blue arrow, even if it wasn’t what he had primarily typed out. ‘please come home? I think we need to talk.’ Was what he had primarily typed out, but he suddenly felt like it was asking too much for something that he knew he shouldn’t care about. He would be home late, again. But possibly later than usual if he took the time to reach out to let him know. He could feel his own self starting to crawl back behind his walls, which made him throw his phone onto the couch with a frustrated sigh. He was frustrated because he felt like he was the one to blame for being getting ready for his couple to fall apart but also for making himself believe it would be different tomorrow. And so he made his way to bed, not without picking back up his phone and setting it neatly on the table, and fell asleep with a heavy heart and a running mind.

And he wasn’t completely wrong since, unlike his usual morning, Stan didn’t wake up to Mike spooning him and peppering feather-light kisses across his faintly freckled shoulders and working his way up the back of his neck before nuzzling his face into the loose curls. He didn’t groan and turned to face him, face scrunching up when Mike kissed him, mumbling ‘ew, morning breath’ which usually would only make the black man press a couple more until a laugh escaped Stan’s lips. He didn’t wake up to the last thing that hadn’t changed yet and seemed to finally crack him. The bed had never felt so cold when he found himself stirring awake and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find himself longing for Mike’s strong arm around him, no matter how many times he has complained that they both woke up sweaty. Stan stares at the numeric clock by his bed as realization settled in.

**_4:45 A.M_ **

4:45 A.M and Mike had yet to be in bed with him, he had yet to be home. The adult turned around in bad to face the empty side, hand weakly grabbing one of his fiancé’s pillow and buried his face in it, both to get the faint lingering scent he loved so much but also to muffle sob that escaped him after creeping up his shoulder.

“Daddy?”

A small, hoarse voice suddenly echoed into the otherwise mostly quiet room, sparing the muffled hiccups, startling Stan so much that he sat up in bed in a heartbeat. He let his eyes stare at his youngest son, Richie, that stood in the door frame holding onto his frog stuffed animal for dear life. As soon as he noticed the way the boy’s cheek glisten in the light peaking through the hall, Stan discarded his pillow he had been holding onto so tightly that it stayed the weird form.

“Hey birdie,” he whispered out, once he cleared his throat, in his ‘soft papa’ voice as his fiancé called it, beckoning the child to enter with his extending hands. “Had a nightmare again?”

The six years old who was by now at the end of the bed nodded slowly. Now that he was closer Stan could notice the way his bottom lips quivered an awful lot as if threatening to make the small human burst into tears again. Which sent Stan into ‘panicked father’ mode as suddenly the world was slowing down. Both of his hands picked up Richie, who threw himself against his father’s chest, pressing the stuffed animal’s hard eyes uncomfortable against his ribcage. But Stan didn’t care for a second, his hands finding Richie’s hand and back and patted his back.

“What happened into your nightmare, dove?”

“Da-Dada left u-us. An-and you didn’t love us anymore so-so me and Ed-Eddie d-"

He had asked, remembering hearing Mike asked that whenever one of the boys would come into their room with a new nightmare that they then would go ‘fight’ together. But the answer he had received wasn’t the normal ‘there’s a monster under my bed’ he would overhear. No, it was one that made Stan’s hitch while his heart felt like a hand was holding it so tightly it might burst from the pressure as realizations settled in him; they have been so distant with each other, so unlike themselves recently that even their children started noticing the changes.

“Richie, look at me please.”

The father called out, his hands on the kid’s shoulder to put the minimal distance between them, trying to get the crying child to look at him.

“Never would I ever not love you or Eddie or Dada. You are the most important thing there is in my life.” Stan told Richie, his hands delicately cradling his son’s face, the pad of his thumb erasing the tears. Tears that somehow doubled after he told him that he would never not love him, which alarmed Stan who himself was trying to hold back his very own. “I’m sorry for neglecting you these past weeks, I will make sure to not do that again. And I know Dada isn’t here as often recently, but he is t going anywhere. And surely isn’t leaving us.”

“Can we-Can we tie dada to a chair tomorrow so he can watch Black Panther with us?”

The six years old asked through hiccups and sniffles that sent a shiver down his spine that was soon suppress by the tired giggle that escaped him, letting a few tears slip past his eyelids as he agreed that it was a good idea. The adult erased the last few stray tears that cascaded down those chubby cheeks, the softest smile appearing on his face as the curly haired child did the same, stretching himself to do so. 

“We should get you to sleep, don’t you think?” Stan said as he laid the boy back down gently onto his bed, one he patted back in place and form the pillow he had messed up, tucking Richie nicely under the covers along with his stuffed frog. As soon as the child’s head hit the pillow he was out, something that Stan found himself being rather jealous of as he couldn’t even concentrate on not concentrating on every little thing that off and out of place like; the big knot in Richie’s wild curls he would have to brush out once the sun finally comes up or the way he had not only let the bedroom door open, but also seemingly every single light in the entire house.

He seemed to somehow become rather obsessed with the way it shone so bright even with his eyes close he could see it, and the buzzing of the lightbulb. That was what really was throwing him off more than anything else and so Stan’s long fingers finally stopped trying to tame his son’s hair as he finally decided to get out of bed.  
It was just to turn off the light in the hallway, until he realized that most of the lights downstairs were on too, drawing the shadow of a man onto the wall. Without the correct thinking, he made his way downstairs, heart full of hope to see his fiancé in the living room. He there was a million of reaction he thought he would’ve had, but none of them actually played out when he saw the broad back and shoulder of Mike flexing under his movements.

"Oh, no honey. Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry, I-" Mike asked after he had seen the other’s reflection in the mirror he was decorating above the fireplace, concern dripping from his voice and the way he started to make his way towards Stan.

"No. Richie did." Stan deadpanned amidst his heart racing at the voice that almost sounded foreign from hearing so little of it recently.

"Nightmare again?"

"What are you doing?"

Stan looked at the man standing near the fireplace, neutral expression well worn on his face that didn’t match the fight between his overjoyed heart and his pissed brain at his very tired, and somehow still good looking, lover. Mike seemed to understand that he better explain himself, seeing an expression on his lover’s face he hadn’t been meant for him in a while; letting him know that he could be the next victim of Stan’s wrath if the anger came to win. The black man opened his mouth opened his mouth to explain himself, but all he found himself saying was; “Happy Chanukah my love.” as he turned off the lights in the living room, letting instead the blue and white colored decoration sparkles in the darkness of the early morning. Mike’s eyes, unlike Stan’s were stock on him as he watched the neutral expression slowly melt away as he was faced with the decoration spelling out ‘Happy Hanukkah’, gifts wrapped in blue and silver resting against the white wall that had little snowflakes tapped all over and finally the sacred Hanukkah menorah as the centerpiece with a beautiful Dreidel.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t present these last few weeks. I- It is no excuse but I wanted to give you a piece of your childhood and your religion back this Holiday and I wanted Eddie and Richie to experience something that is important to you. We’ve been celebrating only my religion and my holidays since we adopted them, I think it’s time we embrace yours more." Mike started by explaining, letting the back of his calloused fingers caressed Stan’s porcelain cheek, admiring the way his skin had taken a blueish hue due to the small lights.

"I wanted everything to be perfect for you. You deserve perfect. And as much as I love Walmart, they don’t have the best selection for Hanukkah’s decoration so I searched further and finally a small boutique owned by this lovely couple that sold handmade stuff, and she even offered to help me bake Sufganiyot and Latkes yesterday so I went directly after work, but I almost burned down her house. Sufganiyot are harder to make then I thought, I don’t know how your mom did it. I wanted to get everything ready for the sunrise, so I could wake you and the kids up and surprise you."

Stan who had stayed silent until then, turn his head to Mike, breathing in a small amount of air to try and compose himself, not wanting to get emotional again. But there was no way he was succeeding, his heart and body warming up as he learned what Mike was truly doing. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. It was beyond beautiful, it had a magical feel to it because of the attention make had put into every small detail. One of his own arms wrapped itself around his waist as the other brought his hand to his mouth, muffling the faint noise that escaped him as the tears started to roll down his face again, and somehow harder than before.

"No. God no, please don’t cry Stan. I can take everything down. I’ll take everything down."

Mike frantically said, stuttering out the first no as the first tear hit his fingers, heartbreaking at the thought that what he did was the wrong thing to do. He quickly moved in front of Stan, shielding him from the decoration as his big finger ever so delicately took hold of the wet face, bending his knee enough so he could still see that beautiful face of his that was hidden behind overgrown dirty-blond curls and a hand clasp to his mouth, murmuring just how sorry he was until Stan escaped his grip, making his heart fall to the ground in a matter of seconds until he realized he could feel a slightly wet hand in his tight frizz, an arm wrapping around his broad shoulders and the wet face he had been holding now nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

"Stop saying you’re sorry you idiot. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. You’re perfect." Stan mumbled through the sobs and hiccups that raked through his body.

The hand that was into the frizz tightened upon the hair just as he let out an involuntary moan when the strong arms that had been wrapped around him a few seconds prior around his waist squeezed him a bit more, which prompted that ridiculously harmonious giggle to escape Mike’s mouth, making Stan’s swell up in adoration, loving the sound he had been missing more than he thought possible.

"Shut up. I missed you a lot okay." Stan admitted, the hand that was fisting Mike’s t-shirt suddenly letting go and slapping, with barely any force, his shoulder to tell him to stop.

"I thought I was losing you. Richie thought so too."

What he said struck a chord deep in Mike who suddenly let go of his fiancé to grab his face again so he could force Stan’s gorgeous hazel eyes to stare back at him as he said; "You will never lose me." which each word was punctured by; a kiss to the forehead, each cheek, his nose and then those baby soft lips. Which had the same effect a macaroon had on him; one taste and he was addicted and wanted more. So he took it as soon Stan responded. It was soft and sweet kisses featuring hands that caressed one another ever so delicately. But the childlike innocence of the kiss turned into a burning passion and a touching desperation for one another; the soft exchange becoming a messy makeup session while the caresses turned into a rough match of who could undress the other faster. Out of all article of clothing, Mike promptly picked up his fiancé and pinned him to the wall. It was short and fast, needy and desperate filled with muffled moans and pants, silenced grunts and broken climax. It wasn't their usual setting. If it had been any other normal day Stan would've swatted Mike's arm for even suggesting making love in such open place and risking messing up the paint. But now, panting so heavily his sweaty slender chest would press itself harder against Mike's, who was busy pressing chaste kisses against the three hickeys he had left upon Stan's delicate skin and apologizing for doing so; knowing how much Stan hated Hickeys. Right now he didn't though. No, on the contrary, he loved them more than anything, hence why he was arching his back and letting his head rest against the wall, breath hitching each and every time it felt like he was going to leave another one. 

"We should get dress before the sun wakes up and we have to wake the kids so one of them can light the first candle."

Mike said against Stan's neck, hot breath fanning over the sensitive area which made electricity run high through his lanky body that was still tightly wrapped around him, preventing him from moving away from him. His grip did falter thought as he heard him say the same mistake as before, a weak but content chuckle coming out of his throat.

"We do that at sunset. Not sunrise but we should indeed get dressed, Richie is planning to tie you up to a chair in the morning. Just thought I should warn you."

Stan announced, looking at the black man that lit up like a Christmas tree at his words, which only prompted him to mimic his happy expression.

"I'll play along. But just to let you know, I wasn't planning on going anywhere now."

The end of the sentence coming out as a quiet moan, Mike having let himself slip out of Stan who was gasping at the sudden emptiness, head collapsing onto Mike's shoulder. Neither of them let go of the other, mike walking themselves over to the kitchen where he finally set down Stan, whose knees buckled a bit from finally being on the ground and carrying his weight.

"Do you have the polaroid I gave you in your desk?"

Stan randomly asked now that he was coming down from his high, still slightly dazed eyes looking at Mike who was wiping away the semen from his stomach. He could see the blush creeping onto his fiancé's skin, darkening it ever so beautifully which made him smile shyly, before starting to laugh because of the strangle sound that escaped him followed by;

"I swear to god, Beverly will pay for this."


End file.
